Fox's Glade butcher of men

for @Valette!

Drogon heads north from Moonspear after letting his higher ups know he’s leaving. It feels strange to put the distance between himself and Moonspear with the purpose of being gone for a handful of days but it’s necessary especially since he’s serious about earning scout as his secondary trade. Being a ranger means he will be the pack’s eyes and though he is familiar with many neutral territories he strives for the knowledge he does not yet have. He wants to stay in-the-know ( a thirst for information that is inherited from his gangster father ) and assumes that having knowledge of what packs still remain, which ones have gone, and which have risen up would only prove to be useful; beyond the intimate knowledge of the layout of neutral territories.

The snow is deeper where the paths are untrodden, his plush belly fur is damp from where he had trudged through deepened snow. The Glade offers a reprieve from deep snows when he reaches the isolated spruce trees. There are trails in the snow, left by foxes, his flared nostrils tell him and other paths carved by prey much bigger than the small vulpine that the territory is named for. Drogon does not intend to linger long: he makes his way towards the small stream that cuts through the center of the territory, bows his head and laps at the icy water, nosing around a chunk of shallow ice that bobs lazily where it has cracked from the thin sheet that covers the top of the stream.